Memorial Day

Both my grandfathers were veterans of WWII. Mom's dad (Walter) was a machine gunner on undefined islands in the Pacific, dad's dad (Robert) was a Navy aviator who was airborne in a weather spotter when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.
Neither of them ever said a word about any of it.

I lost track of dad's parents around the same time I lost track of dad. As a little kid I spent occasional holidays at their house in Moorpark, but got no closer to either of them than to anyone else in my family.

I spent more time with mom's parents. Walter died of lung cancer when I was young, tipping grandma into a slow alcoholic tailspin everyone ignored for as long as they could. Mom dropped me off with her for a week one summer well into the decline. Each night Grandma passed out in her wretched incontinence scarred armchair while her dog crouched on the dining room table, watching.

The environment was dire enough to elicit a tearful apology from mom on the drive home after she eventually picked me up- why it hadn't struck her while dropping me off is a question for another day.

One night in her cups, grandma slurred a war story to me.

Walter was the machine gunner because he was a big man back when big men were less common- you had to be big to tote a larger gun- I'm assuming he carried a BAR and not an actual machine gun. But according to grandma, one black night he fell into a foxhole or trench and engaged in mortal hand to hand combat with "a jap". Unable to bring his weapon to bear in the confined space he scrambled out his knife and was victorious. She told me he took a pistol, a photo album and a Japanese flag from the dead man.

The veracity of the story was open to question for many years, until mom died. Sorting through her garage I found the remains of grandma's estate, a grain of sand in an oyster. One box brimmed with wartime memorabilia- brittle newspaper clippings, Walter's enlistment and discharge papers, badges, medals, a wool uniform cap, ration books.

And, nested in the blood red Rising Sun of a yellowing silk flag, a handmade origami photo album.


Here's to the memory of Walter, and his nameless opponent, and Robert up in his plane on the day of infamy.

Here's to all our troops in all our various entanglements, and to their swift and safe return home.

And here's to all the ones who'll never come home again.